Fighting
by kristenfi13
Summary: Swan Queen one-shot that takes place about halfway through season one. Emma's thoughts about having to deal with a woman she can't quite figure out, even though she desperately wants to.


**AN: **This is a short one-shot that I wrote ages ago, but I thought this might be a good time to post it here. It takes place about halfway through the first season. Keep hoping and don't forget that there's nothing that can sink this ship. Our imagination is enough to keep it afloat.

I try to run, but I can't hide from your burning eyes and your piercing words. Or from my love.

I watch you sit down at a table on the other side of the coffee shop and it's like a magnet in my chest starts to pull towards you – but I resist it, and all I feel is pain where I should be feeling you.

I lie in bed at night and use all my power to pretend that my hand is really yours, but I can never quite convince myself.

I yell at you across your office and I wish that you could know what's going through my head – how much it hurts to want something that you can never get. I knock over a lamp just to emphasize my point, although I'm not entirely sure what that is.

Putting on your silk shirt, my mind suddenly registers that your shoulders, your stomach and your breasts have touched the same material. I slap myself on the forehead for thinking such a thing and walk back out to join Henry.

I had never pictured you with another person until I saw Graham climbing down from your roof. Then I couldn't get the image out of my head.

On a whim, I buy half a dozen honey crisp apples that I see at the supermarket. I pass you on my way home and I clutch the paper bag closer to me, terrified that you'll somehow discover its contents. You ask me if I've been in the sun, because my cheeks are looking pink. That makes my cheeks turn an even darker shade.

I decide to take a bath and try to clear my head. After I get in, I start to wonder if you prefer baths or showers. So much for that idea.

While I'm walking Henry home from school, he tells me that he heard you crying last night. I try to imagine your eyes filled with tears, but I can't.

It isn't until I drive past your house one night while I'm on patrol that I even realize you're capable of feeling sorrow. The light on in your study catches my eye and as I glance across the road, I see you through the window, facing away from me with your head cradled in your hands and your shoulders shaking. I keep driving.

When I run into you the next day, I can't help but remember the sight of you sitting hunched over on the settee, broken. I can hear that your words are harsh, but all I can do is stare at you helplessly. "Miss Swan? Are you even listening to me?" I recover myself enough to say something that will dispel any suspicions you may have that I know – about your weaknesses, about your longings. As I walk away, I remind myself forcefully that I shouldn't presume I know anything about them, either.

I turn up at your front door with no idea how I'm going to explain my presence there. Before I even have time to start to fret about it, though, the door swings open and you're there, stealing all the air from my lungs like you always do. I've never seen you dressed so casually before, without the perfectly constructed image that you usually hide behind. You look like you're about to slam the door in my face, so I instantly find my voice and stammer something about wanting to check up on you because I heard some doors being slammed. You don't seem to buy it for a second, but you step aside anyway to let me in. This is when I start to believe I may have a chance. For what, I don't know – but I can't help but smile when you offer to make some tea.

We've both been silent for a while, sitting in your lounge room and clasping warm mugs. The risk-taker inside of me has been struggling to break free of my restraint ever since I walked through your front door and when it does, the first words that come out of my mouth are, 'Aren't you lonely?' I'm still not sure it was the right thing to say – I half expect you to throw me out then and there – but to my complete astonishment, you burst into tears. You manage to place your mug on the table between us before tea gets spilt all over the carpet, but even I can see that any attempt to regain your composure is gone now. You've lost it in front of me, and I know it must be killing you. My first instinct is to leave before I can cause you any more embarrassment, but as I stand up and move towards the door, I feel your hand clutch my arm as if it's a rope that's stopping you from drowning. I'm frozen, wanting to stay and wanting to run away as fast as I possibly can, all at once. You take in a shuddering breath and all I can do is stand there, feeling for all the world like we're two characters in a fable, unable to escape the destinies that have already been written for us. 'I feel like every day, I'm faced with so many choices,' you begin, struggling through sobs, 'so many decisions that I have every power to make – and none of them are good. None of them have the potential to do any good…and it's all my fault.' And before I can react, you've collapsed against me, and all I can bring myself to do is hold you. It isn't until I have my arms wrapped around you, your tears soaking through my shirt and the warmth of your body spreading through mine, that I realize it's the only thing I've ever wanted to do.

I had been fighting the tide for so long, fighting waves that continued to crash down on me and plunge me beneath the ocean where it was impossible for me to breathe. Then there was you.


End file.
